


drinking in the shallow water

by DivineProjectZero



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service RPF
Genre: F/M, First Time, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineProjectZero/pseuds/DivineProjectZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not <i>pining</i>,” Colin protests, and then his phone lights up with a text message. </p><p>Livia takes one look at Colin’s face and erupts into giggles. “Darling, you’re most <i>definitely</i> pining.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	drinking in the shallow water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [concernedlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/concernedlily/gifts).



> In hindsight, this fic is amusingly fitting considering that Taron and Hugh are looking very friendly in the Eddie the Eagle press tour. 
> 
> None of the events in this fic were meant to closely resemble real life.
> 
> Written for the Winter 2015-16 Hartwin Secret Santa.

The night before the premiere, Colin looks up from his phone to see Livia giving him a fond, bemused look.

“Staring at your phone won’t make him text you back any faster,” she says, turning back to the mirror and applying her moisturizer. She’s nearly done with her nightly skincare ritual, which means Colin has perhaps ten minutes before he switches his phone to silent for the night. He’s already spent twenty minutes telepathically willing a reply to arrive. At this rate, he’ll be kept on tenterhooks until morning.

Another five minutes pass. Then Livia is rising from her seat in front of the dressing table and padding to the bedside, and there is still no new incoming texts on Colin’s phone.

“He’s probably already asleep,” Livia says placatingly, sliding under the covers and kissing Colin’s cheek. “He needs his beauty sleep for tomorrow.”

“He never sleeps this early,” Colin says, and wonder what that says about him, the fact that he’s keeping track of the sleeping habits of a person he doesn’t even live with.

Livia muffles her laughter against his shoulder. “As adorable as your pining is, you need the beauty sleep much more than he does.”

“I’m not _pining_ ,” Colin protests, and then his phone lights up with a text message. 

Livia takes one look at Colin’s face and erupts into giggles. “Darling, you’re most _definitely_ pining.”

-

The entire morning and afternoon of the next day pass in a kind of blur. Colin lets his stylist fuss with his hair, admires Livia’s new shoes that go splendidly with her dress, and then they’re in the car, heading to Leicester Square for Kingsman's London premiere. 

When they arrive, there’s a flood of people and flashing lights, cameras and journalists littered along the sides of the red carpet, throngs of people behind them. It’s a slightly smaller but madder rehash of the Golden Globes, which Colin’s still recovering from, and he’s bracing himself for a parade of questioning when he catches sight of Taron, dressed sharply in a flattering suit, doing his best to answer a journalist’s questions in the midst of the screams.

The sight of Taron’s shoulders in a suit jacket, his back straight and stance steady, relaxes something within Colin’s core, melts his tension into a more welcoming mood. Livia catches his eye and quirks a corner of her mouth into a hint of a smirk, which he parries with a mock-innocent look. 

He’s answered a fair share of questions when he feels the touch at his elbow, the tug on his suit sleeve, and even before he turns around he knows who it is.

“Colin!” Taron beams with delight. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s wonderful to see you, too,” Colin says, meaning every word of it. 

They hug, nothing too lingering, but Colin enjoys the contact, the spicy scent of Taron’s cologne and the warmth radiating from him. After they separate, Livia and Taron trade greetings, and Taron smiles boyishly up at Colin, heedless of the spectators. Colin tries not to melt in front of a hundred witnesses. 

“People aren’t interested me now that you’re here,” Taron says, half-teasing, half-proud, like Colin’s popularity is worth taking pride in. “You’re tonight’s star.”

“They’ll know who the true star is once they see the film.” It’s hard to hear each other in the din, so they lean closer, and for some reason, it still doesn’t feel close enough. The thought is jarringly melancholic, out here in the middle of Leicester Square, so Colin aims for levity. “It’s George, of course.”

A sharp, incredulous laugh bursts out of Taron after a moment, like it’s surprised out of him. “Of course, it’s George, the single most difficult co-star I had to work with.”

Taron has cultivated the most casual love-hate relationship that Colin has ever seen with that little pug. It’s terribly entertaining to tease him about it. 

“We should head inside,” Livia says, shooting Colin a faux-stern look that reminds him that he shouldn’t be flirting with Taron in the middle of the red carpet. “You two can catch up without having to shout over all these people.”

“Excellent idea.” Colin raises an eyebrow at Taron and gestures towards the entrance. “Shall we?”

Taron nods, smile never diminishing, and he follows Colin step by step.

-

Once they’re inside, though, there are so many other people to talk to and no space for any extended private conversations. Colin talks to Matthew, Mark, Sophie, cast members, crew members, other guests he’s met before, and so on, with Taron also performing his social, actorly duties. 

Taron is in constant orbit of Colin, veering away once or twice to talk to people, but eventually returning to Colin’s side, buzzing with nervous energy. It’s his first major premiere, as the lead actor, no less, and without a doubt he’s rather anxious about meeting expectations and doing his best. Colin makes the effort to show his support, squeezing Taron’s elbow or standing close by when he can. Every time their eyes meet, Taron smiles gratefully, and sometimes, he reaches out to brush his hand against Colin’s arm or back, like he’s reassuring himself with the confirmation of Colin’s presence through touch.

By the time the film starts, they still haven’t really said much at all.

-

“You should ask him,” Livia says. She’d expressed both sympathy and exasperation when Colin had bid Taron goodnight and sent him home after the afterparty, too cowardly to ask for anything he really wanted. She’d pointed out that he could have easily had the boy in their bed last night, had Colin merely asked. 

And yes, Colin is aware that Taron would have said yes, if he asked. Taron follows Colin like a sunflower follows the sun, and yesterday, with the adrenaline and endorphins and chemical high that follows a successful premiere, the debut to stardom, Taron would have followed Colin to bed without a second thought. 

And that is wherein the problem lies.

-

“Are you ready for this?” Colin asks.

Taron laughs. “Not really.”

“It’s not that different from those interviews at Comic Con.” Taron has, technically, already done press before, but this is his first international press tour. It’s no surprise that he’s rocking back and forth on his feet, looking like his skin doesn’t fit him right today. 

“I liked Comic Con,” Taron says, recovering some of his excitement. “It was fun.”

“Then you’ll be just fine.” Colin hopes that excitement can last at least for two hours. He has no illusions about it lasting the whole day. “And I’m right here with you.”

-

To be perfectly honest, Colin had _hated_ the San Diego Comic Con. 

Not, of course, the event itself or the people attending it. It had been his first time there and he’d quite enjoyed the whole venture, even if their panel hadn’t generated that much interest compared to others. It had been an overall painless and pleasant experience. 

No, the main source of Colin’s ire had been unrelated to Comic Con. Something entirely trivial.

It had been Taron, stars in his eyes and admiration in his voice as he went on and on about _Tom Hardy_. And Tom is a fantastic chap, deserving of all kinds of praise, really, but Colin had sat next so Taron saying _Tom did this_ and _Tom was that_ and the adoration oozing off of Taron had felt too familiar, a touch too close to what Colin had initially thought was something he could keep for himself. 

He had very nearly joked about it, something along the lines of _I thought you liked me best_ , and it had been on the tip of his tongue when he realized the acerbic taste of it, the way the words wouldn't come out as teasing and lighthearted but bitter and disappointed, and he'd swallowed them back down, had felt the sentiment rot away in his stomach.

It had been a rather unpleasant revelation, to look at Taron bite his lower lip in a bashful manner and think of running his thumb across that lip, to soothe it with his tongue. To wistfully, petulantly think _but I like you best_ , and how it stung to think that the feeling might not be reciprocated after all.

-

Colin isn't a fool; he knows that it's petty of him to feel replaced when he had no claim to be Taron's favorite in the first place. He's old enough to know better. He has a beautiful, loving wife and sweet children and a good career. He shouldn't let his aching want for Taron keep him up at night.

Unfortunately, it's more than a matter of lust, of wanting to spoil Taron in his bed and worship him with mouth and hands and cock. It's about wanting Taron to like Colin best, to choose him. To love him.

It's quite the disaster.

"Isn't that right, Colin?" 

Colin startles, his brain recalibrating itself from introspection to mild alertness. His mind has been wandering in the middle of an interview—it’s hard to give his full attention to one when he's been answering the same questions for three hours—while Taron's been answering the standard Eggsy-related queries. Going by the way Taron cocks his head sideways and gives Colin a charmingly dimpled smile full of mischief, he's noticed Colin's woolgathering.

"Quite right," Colin improvises, mentally replaying the conversation he'd only been half tuned into. "Nobody really thought I could pull it off. The most action I've had on camera is wrestling Hugh Grant in a fountain."

He proceeds to answer a few more questions, elaborating on the more fascinating parts of playing Harry Hart and what it was like to be someone nobody had thought him capable of being. He glances sideways to check on Taron once, and he looks comfortable, leaning back in his seat, tipped a bit to the side so he's angled closer to Colin, and he's staring with such intensity that Colin can't help but stare back for a moment before he averts his eyes. There's a prickly sensation on Colin's skin, like a hot brush of breath against his cheek, an awareness that Taron's attention is riveted to him, and it sends a shiver down his spine. Given how easily Taron is distracted, it’s an addictive thing, to have the boy’s full attention.

Colin wonders if Taron will look at his other costars the way he looks at Colin. Pay them the same attention and lean towards them and look at them like they hung the moon and stars.

He wishes Taron won’t. 

-

They finish another day of interviews and reward themselves with emptying the minibar in Colin’s hotel room, too weary to trek outside to find a proper establishment. 

“All I do is sit and answer questions. Why is this so _exhausting_ ,” Taron groans. “How do you do this all the time?”

Colin takes a long, pondering sip of his beer. “Well, the key is to stop thinking too hard about it. Enjoy yourself. Give serious answers to questions that deserve them, and then take the piss out of the ones that don’t. As for the tedium, you simply have to endure it. You did an excellent job today.”

“We have three more weeks of this, Colin. _Three_.”

The wet pout of Taron’s lips is dangerously tempting. Colin casually crosses his legs and angles himself so he doesn’t stare at them so much. “Well, it’s certainly easier than physical training for Kingsman was.”

“That’s true,” Taron admits. His cheeks are flushed a dull red, a sign of the alcohol working its way through Taron’s bloodstream, and his hair is mussed from how Taron’s been repeatedly running his hand through it. Colin wants to run his fingers through that hair and pull it. Expose Taron’s throat, bite down and mark him, thoroughly enough that men like Tom Hardy would know to keep their hands off of him.

Possibly, Taron wants other men’s hands all over him. It’s a worrisome thought.

“You alright?” Taron asks, leaning closer. He waves a hand in front of Colin’s face. “You’re getting that pinched look.”

“I’m fine.” He’s staring at Taron’s lips again, damn it. “I might have had a little too much to drink.”

Taron checks his watch. “It’s late anyway. You should go to bed.”

_You should come to bed with me_. Colin makes sure to not say that out loud. Instead, he nods and stands from his seat to accompany Taron to the hotel hallway. He’s sorely tempted to not let Taron leave, especially with the view of his arse in his jeans and that delectable flush that reaches even the back of his neck. Colin could step closer, kiss that bare nape and curl his arms around Taron’s waist, ask him to stay the night.

After that, though.

He could probably convince Taron to share a bed with him for the remainder of the press tour, but he’s not sure what will become of them after that. He wants more than a press tour fling. He wants more than sex. He wants next month and next summer and next year. He wants phone calls and dinners and film premieres where Colin will see Taron with other costars and be secure in the knowledge that Taron will be coming back to him.

“See you at breakfast?” Taron asks. 

Colin curls his fingers into a fist so that he doesn’t snag Taron by the hem of his shirt. Resists the urge to drag him back and take him to bed. “Of course.”

-

“Poor you,” Livia croons over the phone. “He was right there, ripe for the taking.”

“Neither of us were sober enough to make important decisions.” It’s a weak excuse, but Colin’s sticking with that one tonight. “I can’t have him in my bed and watch him walk away from it like it was a mistake.”

He hears Livia hum. “I think you can’t stand to see him walk away from you at all.” She makes a thoughtful noise. “Maybe he doesn’t want to walk away from you.”

-

They’re in the middle of yet another interview—this time it’s Empire Magazine, they’re all starting to blur together—when their interviewer asks about their favorite James Bonds. It’s a toss-up between Daniel Craig and Sean Connery, in Colin’s book, and he’s dithering over his answer when Taron takes the plunge first.

“I love Live and Let Die, and I’ve been asked a bit about my, um. I wink quite a lot in the film, which wasn’t something that was planned, but now—”

“Wink?” Colin interrupts, amused. “It was a twitch, wasn’t it?”

Taron blinks at him, then says, “ _Colin_ ,” in a scandalized tone, like he’s just been affronted, the amusement bleeding through the upturned curve of his mouth as he huffs and turns back to the interviewer.

Colin, on the other hand, is thankful for the fact that he’s kept his legs crossed right now, because he’s now hard in his trousers. 

The way Taron’s just uttered his name is perilously close to a whine. The kind of voice Colin thinks he’d hear if he shoved Taron against a wall and kissed his way up Taron’s throat, or if he pinched Taron’s sore bum the morning after a night of hard fucking. Colin’s name sounds _filthy_ on Taron’s tongue, and Colin wants to see how he can bully that exact utterance out of Taron’s mouth again, wants to press Taron against bedsheets and finger him open and keep him on the edge until all he’s whining and wailing is Colin’s name, just like that.

Shit. Fuck. Bugger.

-

While he’s always known that Taron has a terrible habit of sprawling in his seat, Colin has never been so keenly aware of how absolutely indecent Taron’s sitting posture was until now. Taron sits with his legs spread so wide he might as well be welcoming half of London between them. 

Right after one particularly amusing question, Taron sends Colin a lazy grin, still sitting like the least popular kind of person to sit in the Tube with, and it’s a trial to not teach him a lesson about sitting politely right then and there. 

Colin spends the rest of the day thinking about leaving bite marks along the insides of Taron’s thighs.

-

Taron’s room is only two doors down from Colin’s, and it doesn’t have a minibar. They have an early morning tomorrow and they’d agreed that it was best to stay in Taron’s room and not be tempted. They discuss upcoming projects and what 2015 is going to look like for them both. Colin doesn’t really have a busy year ahead of him. The Donald Crowhurst film will happen in the summer, but otherwise, he seems to have a rather relaxing year ahead. There is the slightly worrying possibility of the third Bridget Jones film finally happening, but Colin’s not going to think about it yet. He’d really rather not.

Taron, likewise, seems to have a rather quiet year ahead of him as well. 

“We’re starting filming for Eddie the Eagle soon, but after that, I’ll stay home for a while,” Taron says. “Spend time with my family.”

“How long are they expecting filming to go for Eddie the Eagle?” He wonders if there would be enough time between Eddie the Eagle and the Donald Crowhurst film for the two of them to spend time together. If Taron would want to spend time together.

“About two months? I’m going to be on a ski slope for weeks.” Taron fidgets, then brightens with excitement. “Oh, nothing’s official yet, but I heard we’re getting Hugh Jackman to play my coach.”

The first immediate image that pops into Colin’s mind is of Wolverine on a ski slope. He swiftly disposes of that image. “Looks like you’ll get to work with him before I do, then.”

“I really hope he’s in it. I’d really love to work with him, you know, and he’s going to be amazing,” Taron says, eager and brimming with anticipation. “And he’s _Wolverine_ , how awesome is that?”

Another costar for Taron to adoringly attach himself to, then. Soon enough, Colin will be just the first of many, a good memory and nothing more, and Taron won’t be losing sleep over it. It’s an awful thought. 

Colin decides to shift the topic of conversation away from Hugh Jackman. “So after filming, you don’t have much on your schedule this year.”

“Nothing confirmed yet,” Taron says. “But there’s the Legend premiere.”

“You’ll be back in London for that, won’t you?”

Taron shrugs. “Probably? Maybe? Depends on if I get a project by then. I’d really love to see everybody again, though.” A small smile blooms on his face. “Would be fun to talk to Tom again.”

The sharp sense of discomfort prickles in the bottom of Colin’s gut. “Haven’t kept in touch with him?” It’s a very petty thing to feel victorious over. The extent of Colin and Taron’s contact in their Kingsman-less months had consisted entirely of texting and a handful of phone calls.

“Not really,” Taron says with a carefree shrug. “Which is a bit rude,” he jokes. “You’d think he’d at least call me after so much steamy action together.”

_That_ statement has Colin’s entire mind go blank. “Excuse me?”

“You know, Ronnie Kray and Mad Teddy Smith. The whole gay lovers thing.” Taron makes a vague hand gesture. “It’s pretty blatant.”

It’s not that Colin hadn’t known exactly what role Taron had been cast in for Legend, what the nature of the relationship between his character and Tom’s character was, but for some reason he didn’t anticipate this. Hadn’t thought of what exactly Tom and Taron would be doing in front of the cameras, where they’d be touching, how much of each other’s bare skin they’d see. If Tom would know what kinds of sounds Taron makes when he’s about to beg, if he knows what Taron tastes like, if he knows parts of Taron that Colin has no access to.

His mouth moves before he’s thought his words through. “That’s rather unfair.”

Confusion flits across Taron’s face. “What is?”

“I’d say Harry and Eggsy had a strong relationship as well,” Colin says. He’s sober and he’s not sure if he’s making any sense. He’s losing his bloody mind. _Fantastic_. 

“Are you saying that it’s unfair you didn’t get to make out with Eggsy?” The corners of Taron’s eyes are crinkled in amusement, the same way they crinkle when he sees Colin in the mornings at breakfast, a sight that keeps Colin up at night, keeps him hopeful and unsure and worried. Wondering if he’s not the only one on the receiving end of Taron’s affection, if it’s just Taron’s personality or if there’s something more to it.

It’s that tiny detail that causes the wretched, lovesick fool inside Colin to break and say, “It’s unfair that I didn’t get to make out with _you_.”

Taron stares.

“Never mind,” Colin says, and he pushes himself to his feet, starts making his way to the door. He feels his stomach turn; a sour taste is in his mouth. “I’m a bit worn out, I didn’t mean—”

“Wait,” Taron pleads, rushing to put himself between Colin and the door. “Just wait a minute, Colin.”

“Must we really do this right now?” Colin needs to go stick his face in burning water and scald the humiliation off. In fact, he probably needs to set himself on fire.

“Yes. Colin, you said. Um. What you said. Do you mean it?”

He could insist it was a poorly made joke. He could claim that this is all an act, just to get a rise out of Taron. He could lie. Colin has an Academy Award sitting on a shelf back home. He’s a very good actor.

But he’s _tired._  Tired of letting his want keep him up at night, tired of denying himself an opportunity to find out what exactly Taron sounds like when he has a cock inside him, tired of fucking pining after this gorgeous boy.

So he opts for the truth: “I meant more than what I said.” 

“You want me?” Taron asks.

“I'm in love with you,” Colin corrects.

Taron's jaw drops. "What? You—I didn't think," he stammers, then cuts himself off. "What about Livia?"

There's a glimmer of hope in the wobble of Taron's voice, in his wide eyes, and that reaction is encouraging enough that the bitter ache in Colin eases away. "She's been waiting for me to bring you home as more than a friend." 

"Really?" Wariness and hope are warring in the hesitance of that question, and Colin doesn't hesitate to pull out his phone from his pocket. In for a penny, and all that.

He opens his most recent text conversation with Livia and offers the phone to Taron, lets him take it and read through the last dozen messages. There's a text from Livia that says _just kiss him already_ in there somewhere, along with a few filthier suggestions, and Colin can tell when Taron reads those from the blush that spreads across his face like wildfire. 

"She's okay with it. Us." Taron says, dazed, handing Colin's phone back, and Colin closes his hand around it and Taron's fingers.

"Are you okay with it?" Colin tracks the way Taron's throat moves when he swallows, the shy darting of Taron's gaze to Colin's mouth, the way his lashes flutter when Colin strokes his knuckles. "Are you willing to let me keep you?"

He waits as Taron processes all the implications of that last question, hopes that Taron says yes. He isn't sure if he has the willpower to let go of Taron's hand right now if he says no.

"On one condition," Taron finally says.

Colin squeezes Taron's fingers and waits, his heart in his throat. It's like the whole world is holding its breath.

"I get to keep you, too." The trembling of Taron’s hand in Colin’s awakens a fierce protectiveness inside of him, the urge to take Taron and hide him away, keep him safe, to spoil him. To ruin him. "I mean, I know Livia and your family comes first, and if you want to change your mind about me, you don't have to feel obligated or anything—"

He's rambling. Colin pockets his phone and then cuts Taron off by taking his shoulders and walking him backwards, right against the door, and leans close enough for their noses to brush. 

"I don't think I could ever walk away from you," Colin says, the words a whispered confession against Taron's mouth.

"Then _don't_ ," Taron says, his hands sliding up Colin’s neck to frame his jaw, and pulls him in for a kiss.

They start off with just pressing their mouths together, enjoying the feeling of their lips sliding against each other, and then Colin takes Taron's lower lip between his own and sucks on it, eliciting a low whimper that sends a pleasant shiver rippling down Colin's spine. He pushes between Taron’s lips, explores the warm, wet cavern of Taron’s mouth with his tongue, coaxes the boy to tilt his head back so Colin can have better access. He licks the tender ceiling of Taron's mouth and feels him shiver at that, presses Taron harder against the door, slides a firm thigh between those lovely legs and leans into the bulge he finds there, swallowing the moan that spills from Taron's lush mouth.

After Colin's indulged in sucking on Taron's tongue to his heart's content, he pulls back to admire the sight of Taron's swollen, spit-slick lips, bruised under Colin's administrations, then ducks back in to tug that plump lower lip with his teeth.

"Colin," Taron whines, in that exact way Colin's been dreaming of ever since that interview, and Colin reflexively grinds their hips together. Taron moans, loud and filthy, his head dropping back against the door with a thunk, his voice breaking when he whines Colin’s name again.

“What do you want, darling?” Colin asks, peppering kisses on Taron’s face, down his jaw and neck. “Do you want my mouth?” He punctuates that question with a slow, open-mouthed kiss against Taron’s throat, mindful not to leave any lasting marks there. He can’t have any visible hickeys above the collar causing any scandals during Taron’s first major press tour. “I can suck you. Or eat you out, if you’d like.” 

Taron shudders at that, his legs instinctively spreading, and his receptiveness has Colin lightheaded with lust.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Colin’s hand dips in under the hem of Taron’s shirt, palming the expanse of bare skin underneath, his fingertips delving inside the waistband of Taron’s jeans. He slides his fingers lower, follows the pert curve of Taron’s arse, delves his middle finger just between the cheeks. “You’d like me to spread you open, put my mouth right _here_ ,” and he manages to fit his hand in well enough that he can rub the pad of a finger against Taron’s hole.

“Fuck,” Taron gasps, swaying into Colin’s chest, his hair tickling Colin’s chin, his breath hot against Colin’s collarbone. “I want you inside me.”

“Do you want my fingers?” Colin asks, teeth scraping the shell of Taron’s ear, enjoying the hitch in Taron’s breath, the way he clings tighter to Colin while he runs a teasing finger just inside the cleft of Taron’s arse. He can’t help but tease. “I’m rather curious as to how many times you can come in one night.”

He doesn’t intend to find out right now, at any rate, given that they have an early morning schedule tomorrow and they’re both wound up too tightly to stretch things out tonight. But it’s an idea worth suggesting, going by the way Taron swears under his breath and abortively thrusts against Colin’s leg. 

“I want your cock,” Taron says, breathless and flushed, grinding meaningfully against Colin’s erection to make a point, “inside me, right here.” He places a hand over the one Colin has on Taron’s arse and squeezes. “So I can feel you during tomorrow.”

Colin groans. “You little—alright. We need condoms.”

“Shit,” Taron swears. “I only have lube.”

“I have two in my room,” Colin says. “Go get on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

He takes Taron’s key card and thanks his luck that their rooms are so close together; it’s remarkably awkward to be walking around in a hotel hallway with a noticeable tent in his trousers.

Ever the optimist, Livia had packed a couple condoms for Colin in his suitcase, despite Colin’s misgivings—he’s going to have to thank her later when he calls her—and it takes Colin a minute of rummaging around to find them. He’s still hard in his trousers, but the urgency has dimmed to a pleasant buzz of anticipation by the time he’s returning to Taron’s room, unlocking the door and letting himself in.

“Took you long enough,” Taron says from the bed, propped up against the headboard with a pillow behind his back, naked as a jaybird and two fingers fucking steadily into his arse.

“Jesus Christ,” Colin swears, nearly dropping the condoms in his haste to unbutton his shirt. “I was gone for less than _five minutes_.”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for _months_ ,” Taron retorts, scissoring his fingers to stretch his hole nice and wide, and it’s a rather spectacular view. 

By the time Colin’s stripped off his briefs and socks, standing naked by the bedside, Taron’s pushing in a third finger into his arsehole, his voice going high and breathy as he twists his fingers inside of him and takes a good look at Colin’s cock.

“Internet wasn’t too far off the mark, yeah?” Taron licks his lips, his eyes glazing over with want. “Fuck me, I’m going to feel it tomorrow during those interviews.” He sounds like he’s looking forward to it.

Colin joins him on the bed, nudging Taron’s knees farther apart so he can sit between them and trace the lube-drenched rim. The squelching noises of Taron's fingers fucking into his arse is mouthwatering. Instead of ducking down and finding out what Taron tastes like in his most vulnerable place, he presses the edge of his thumb inward.

“I should have you sit on my face some other time,” Colin muses, sliding his thumb slowly inside, alongside Taron’s fingers, listening to the pleasured cadence of the cut-off sounds Taron makes. “You’d be gorgeous, with my tongue inside you.”

“Not as gorgeous as with your prick inside me,” Taron snarks, then whines when Colin twists his thumb inside of him. “Okay, Jesus, I’m ready, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Taron pouts, his bruised, pretty mouth making a sufficient argument that Colin doesn’t know how to say no to. “Right, yes, of course you are.” Colin leans in and kisses Taron for a breathless minute. He can’t resist himself. 

“How do you want to do this?” Colin asks, kissing Taron’s knee.

Taron thinks for a moment, his eyes flitting to Colin’s cock and then to his face. He seems to come to a decision. 

“I want to ride you.”

Colin allows Taron to manhandle him so that he’s lying on the bed, his head propped up with a pillow. He watches Taron rip a condom packet open and roll it down carefully on Colin’s cock, and the sight of this beautiful boy kneeling by Colin’s cock, his adoration plain as day in his green eyes when he smiles shyly at Colin, has Colin feeling suddenly, intensely grateful that Taron chose _him_ , of all people. 

“I’m glad it was you,” Colin says. “I’m glad you were the one who was chosen to be Eggsy.”

Taron smiles, a sweet, giddy curve on his bitten lips. “I’m glad you were the one to play Harry.” He swings a leg over Colin’s hips, straddling him. “I’m glad you’re the one here with me, right now.” And then he’s sinking _down_ , tight and damp and hot around Colin’s prick, swallowing him up into a perfect haven inch by inch.

“Fuck,” Colin gasps, expletive punctured out of him. He has to grit his teeth to keep himself from moving, from thrusting up into the perfect heat. 

It takes a while for Taron to ease his way down, all the way until Colin’s balls are pressed to his bum, and when Colin’s cock is finally all the way in, Taron grins down at him, hungry and eager. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Colin parrots back, running tentative hands up Taron’s sweat-slick thighs, feeling them quiver under his palms. 

Taron is adjusting, working his hips in tiny, maddening circles that aren’t helping Colin stay still at all. “God, I’m going to get a hard-on during the press tour tomorrow, like it isn’t hard enough already not to jump you in front of other people already, fuck.” He clenches his arse around Colin’s cock and Colin almost sees stars. “I’m going to be so sore,” Taron says, gleeful.

“I can make sure you’re sore throughout the entire press tour,” Colin says. It’s a miracle that he can still talk in sentences longer than five words. “I should have brought a plug. Have you stretched out and full during interviews, teach you a lesson about sitting with your legs open like that.”

Taron whines, grinds down hard enough that Colin chokes on air for a moment. “Oh god, _yes_.”

“Should fuck you in the morning,” Colin says when he regains the ability to speak English again. “Keep you wet and ready so that we can nip off for lunch. I could slide right into you.”

“Bend me over whenever you like,” Taron rasps, lifting up til only the head of Colin’s cock is still inside him. “Have me gagging for it.” He slams down, and Colin scrabbles with the bedsheets, tries not to grip Taron’s hips and fuck up into him hard and fast.

“If you want,” Colin pants, “we could do it bare. I’m clean. Have me come inside you, plug you up so you’re full and dripping while you’re out there in front of the camera.”

“Yes,” Taron chants. “Yes, fuck, Colin—”

Taron establishes a rhythm, gaining momentum and bouncing on Colin’s cock, his thighs flexing, guttural moans punching out of him with every downward bounce. One of Colin’s hands has found its way to Taron’s hip, his self-control fraying.

“Do you want me to move,” Colin asks.

“ _Please_ ,” Taron says.

Colin doesn’t waste any time. He grips Taron’s hips with both hands, hard enough to bruise, and thrusts _up_ , right when Taron’s slamming down, and it’s _filthy_ , the way Taron throws his head back and whines, the way his spine arches and his nipples are pink and erect, the way sweat trickles down his skin.

“Gonna be a memorable press tour,” Taron manages to say, catching his breath while grinding a dirty circle on Colin’s cock. He leans down to nip at Colin’s nose. “Best one of my life, probably.”

“Not unless you sleep with Tom Hardy. Or Hugh Jackman.” The bitterness is mostly gone, mollified by sex and Taron’s clear affection that’s meant for Colin, but there’s still a hint of it. Taron notices, his eyebrows shooting up as he leans back in incredulity. 

“Are you really jealous of—Colin, Tom barely even _touched_ me. I was joking, earlier. We don’t even kiss!” Taron huffs a laugh that reverberates straight to Colin’s cock. “I’m not interested in Tom, or any other actors, okay? It’s just you. You’re it for me.” He leans down so that he’s lying atop Colin, chest to chest, and he presses a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Colin’s mouth. “I love you.”

Colin inhales, then rolls them over, his cock still nestled in Taron’s arse, and presses Taron into the mattress, kisses him like he’s drowning and Taron’s the only oxygen he’ll ever get.

“I love you too,” Colin says against Taron’s open mouth. 

He hefts one of Taron’s legs over his shoulder, lets Taron wrap the other one around his waist, and he fucks Taron like that, bending him nearly in half, aiming his thrusts just so that he’s hitting the spot that makes Taron wail, pre-come dripping from the slit of his cock, and the moment Colin takes his hand to the base of Taron’s cock, fingers brushing against his balls, Taron comes, shooting all over his stomach and chest. The picture of debauchery Taron makes, eyes wet and face flushed, his entire body drenched in sweat and sex, combined with the spastic clenching of his arse and the sound of Taron keening through his orgasm, pushes Colin to the brink of climax as well. He holds it off as best as he can, taking a minute to check if Taron’s oversensitive, then proceeds to fuck into Taron's pliant warmth while Taron encourages him. “Yeah, c’mon, come in me, Colin, I wanna see your face when you come inside me—”

Colin shudders, buries his face into Taron’s shoulder and muffles his groan as he comes.

-

“Can’t breathe,” Taron squeaks five minutes later, from under where Colin’s collapsed bonelessly atop of him.

“Sorry.” Colin rolls off, settling comfortably on the bed. Taron cuddles close, tangling his ankles with Colin’s, resting his head on Colin’s chest.

They stay like that for a while, until Colin hears his phone chime from where he abandoned it on the floor. He groans. It’s tempting to leave it, wait until when he’s not as post-coital, but it could be something urgent about the press tour. 

He reluctantly pulls himself out of bed, retrieves his phone, then immediately returns so that Taron can use him as a pillow.

He checks the message, then blinks. “Our 8am just cancelled.”

“What?” Taron lifts his head, and then there’s the distinctive chirp of Taron’s phone ringing from the coffee table. “Huh. So when do we have to be ready by?”

“10am.” Colin checks the time. It’s not even midnight, yet. “So we could sleep in.”

“Mmmm,” Taron hums. Then he looks at Colin through his lashes, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “You said something about wanting to know how many times I can come in one night?”

There’s no way Colin can get hard again for at least another hour, but his prick twitches hopefully anyway.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me the answer, will you.”

Taron smirks. “Nope. It’s your job to find out.”

“Well,” Colin says. He can work with that. “Why don’t we start with you taking a seat on my face?”

-

One interviewer asks what kind of relationship Harry and Eggsy have.

“We’re lovers,” Taron says, looking straight at Colin. Colin can’t help but smile, tamping down on the urge to drag Taron in by his jacket and kiss him. It’s the closest thing they’ll ever get to professing their love in public.

-

This is the best press tour Colin’s ever been on, with Taron by his side, their combined enthusiasm for their film, a job that Colin’s proud of, propelling them through interview after interview. He enjoys having Taron in his bed every night, and counts the days until it all ends and they go home.

Colin isn’t dreading the end, though. Instead, he’s looking forward to it. After all, he’s going home to his family, and he’s bringing Taron with him. 

This is just the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> writing tumblr: [divineprojectzero](http://divineprojectzero.tumblr.com)  
> main tumblr: [listentotheshityousay](http://listentotheshityousay.tumblr.com)  
> twitter: [@listento_yousay](http://twitter.com/listento_yousay)


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